


I don't want to wash away the night before

by CharlieDC



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff, M/M, No Control by One Direction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 21:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7285786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieDC/pseuds/CharlieDC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-3.4 update. Post-Haus party. </p><p>Jack finds himself in Johnson's old room, which is now his boyfriends room, cuddling a small southern boy and half-assedly singing pop songs he didn't know he knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I don't want to wash away the night before

**Author's Note:**

> Great Lord Ngozi has blessed us with another great update, and I felt like writing.
> 
> Thanks to Dante for giving me a prompt :)

It took a good 40 minutes before Bitty could get Jack away from the party, away from his teammates (looking at the tadpoles, mostly), and back up to his room to promptly remove all of his clothes and climb him like a tree. For the first few hours, before the party died down to a lulling rumble beneath the floorboards, they were allotted the opportunity to make noise. They could whine and moan and scream with each other and the most that would happen is a broom hit the floor and a lot of whooping sounds (followed by whistles).

After people drifted out of the large Haus doors and some just dropped like wasted flies on any surface that would support their body weight, the couple took to light touches. Grazing skin with fingers and lips, praises on the tongue followed by short-circuit puffs of air and breathy moans. 

Jack loves it. He drinks in moments like that like he would if he just came home from an early morning run. He savors every drop and praises whatever deity is responsible for sweet southern boys with freckles dotting every inch of skin (and the possibility that Jack has left kisses on that freckled skin). The fact that they got through the whole night with no door-slamming-open interruptions from anyone in the Haus is a miracle to be rejoiced, and while Jack isn’t normally one to push his luck, he thinks that celebration should start right now, seeing as his limbs are tangled in sheets and tangled with Bitty as he sleeps next to him.

Waking up that morning was a bit strange, because he’s never slept in this room before. He’s also never fully taken in the room as a whole since Bitty decorated it; since they met, really. He hung out with Johnson constantly in his room, sure, but Bitty…

Bitty is a whole other story. The walls are neatly arranged with Samwell pride and Beyoncé posters (there’s some other bands and artists but Jack doesn’t recognize most of them). He sees the obviously southern-mother-made curtains hanging over the window, the organized desk with all kinds of studying materials (noting the French 101 book, Jack huffs out a small laugh). Glancing over to the dresser, there’s knickknacks and trophies, some shirts on top and, when Jack sees the shelf next to it, he notices the video camera.

Bitty’s videos always make Jack smile, and while he’s never told Bitty that yes, he has found his vlogs and,  _ most definitely yes _ he is  _ always _ endeared by them (how he talks about his pies as if they’re his children, and the tadpoles that he  _ actually refers to as his children _ ) and wants to reach through the screen and wrap him up when he misses him - see: always. He watches them, sometimes, when he’s on the road. Mostly he’s watching them in his Providence apartment, when it’s way-the-fuck-past-bedtime, tearing up slightly that he doesn’t have his boy with him in his arms  _ right now. _

When Jack looks back over at Bitty, he’s met with those chocolate brown eyes. They’re smiling at him, of course, as he breathes out a groggy “hello” and Jack shifts his body so he’s fully turned and facing Bitty on the bed. They’re laying next to each other, legs tangled, hair messy, and all Jack wants to do is stay here, suspended in this moment and never pop the bubble by leaving this room. Bringing a hand to cup Bitty’s cheek and pulling him closer, Jack seals their lips in a soft and tender greeting of  _ Hi honey! I love you and I love waking up next to you.  _ When Bitty pulls back, he cuddles into Jack’s side and lets Jack wrap him up in his arms. He sighs out of relief, nuzzles his neck where he’s greeted with the smell of his boyfriend, and he finds himself smiling.

“If I could, I’d stay right here all day.” He breathes out, body deflating next to Jack as he sighs again and snakes a hand up to Jack’s chest. It’s bare, which is a no-brainer, because they  _ had sex last night _ because they’re _ dating  _ and they’ve been dating  _ for months _ .

It’s Jack who sighs this time, kissing Bitty’s head and closing his eyes, letting the warmth of his boyfriend tug him back to sleep.

“I could stay right here in burn in it all daaaayyy,” Jack says in a soft sing-song tone, groggy and his words are slurred (just a bit) and Eric promptly sits up, obviously not sleepy anymore. He keeps a close eye at Jack and when he speaks again he sings, “wakin’ up… beside you m’a loaded gun…” he yawns and Bitty wants to kiss his dopey, sleepy, smile off his face.

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann are you singing a pop song, no less  _ One Direction _ ?”

Jack opens his eyes and - yes he’s very confused himself as to what just happened.

“Jack “Zimmboni” Zimmermann, bad-ass hockey player, who doesn’t know  _ a lick _ of pop culture, is singing One Direction in my bed.”

His lips turn upwards as he rolls his head to look at Bitty - and Bitty recognizes it as his chirping smile - and he says, “Are you chirpin’ me, Bittle?”

Eric laughs and leans in close to him, “Only if you look me in the eye and tell me you don’t know the next line to that song, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack’s face deadpans. For a brief second Bitty thinks he’s going to get the brunt of another chirp when Jack, monotone, sits straight up and sings,

“I can’t contain this anymore! I’m all yours I’ve got no control!” He looks at Bitty, who is smiling back at him, and they join in for the next lyric together. Eric leans over to his nightstand, he grabs his phone and plays the song for both of them.

Checking the time it’s around eleven thirty, so the majority (if not all) of the Hausmates are A. awake or B. sleeping. That’s when Eric plugs his phone into his speaker dock and puts the volume up a hair under earsplitting; he and Jack are standing on his bed belting out the lyrics to a fucking One Direction song.

“I’M ALL YOURS I’VE GOT NO CONTROL! NO CONTROOOOOL!” They sing to each other and flop back on the bed in a fit of giggles and laughs. They roll together, facing each other, and find themselves kissing. The next song comes on the playlist, it’s Ed Sheeran, and Bitty is turning down the volume, then rolling back over and being pulled closer to Jack; slotting himself together with him, cuddling.

The bright Boston sunshine in the room is an indicator that now is a probably a good time to get out of bed and get ready for the day. However, the pair cannot will themselves to rise from their position on the mattress. 

He looks at Jack and is taken back by the way the light highlights his features, the curve of his nose and the plump of his lips (which he notes as very kissable right now). When Jack turns to face him, he smiles, and Eric is being moved by an unknown force (he thinks love, maybe) which lines his lips perfectly against the other’s. He’s pulled by the back of the neck and they’re nipping and sighing and smiling into kisses, together, which is so fucking unreal. It’s been weeks,  _ months,  _ without true  _ physical contact _ and here they are, lounging in Eric’s room, making out and belting song lyrics: together.

There’s a knock at the door, and Bitty takes a breath, is looking Jack in the eyes, and asks, “Who is it?” He’s smiling at his boyfriend, and his boyfriend is smiling back at him. All is right in the world.

“Some kid is close to puking in your kitchen and I know that’s the last thing you want.”

Okay maybe not everything. Consider the bubble, popped.

Jack thinks, maybe, the only time he’s ever seen Eric Bittle’s eyes go  _ that wide  _ was during playoffs senior year. And that… that was a scary situation, so Jack is very confused as to why Bitty is just sitting here and not sprinting down to the kitchen to fireman carry whoever is almost-vomiting on his clean linoleum floor. Mid thought, however, he sees Bitty do the unthinkable.

He shrugs.

“Shitty, why can’t  _ you  _ just kick him out and make him puke on the porch or something?” He sits up, “Get him out of my kitchen.” And the way he says  _ my kitchen _ sends a small shiver down Jack’s spine (he’s a little aroused right now, he’ll be man enough to admit it) and it is strange he’s never quite seen that side of Bitty before.

“You’re not sprinting down there to take care of it?” Jack says as he’s tugging at Eric to slot back into his arms.

“Shitty’s a big boy, he can handle it,” finding his way back into the crook of Jack’s neck, he breathes out, “‘Sides, it’s not every day I can snuggle with  _ Jack Zimmermann _ in my own bedroom.”

However, when they hear puking sounds coming from downstairs, Bitty stiffens and prays to any and all deities that some college student’s vomit is  _ not on the floor of his goddamn kitchen. _ He gets a text from Lardo about three minutes later informing that his kitchen is puke-free, but the lawn is a whole other story.

Jack laughs and Eric giggles and, luckily, they’re not disturbed for the rest of the day.


End file.
